


It Still Moves

by kvikindi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Dissociation, Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, all the Winter Soldier things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kvikindi/pseuds/kvikindi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky, cut loose, is an object in motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Still Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings. This story contains some significant violence, both by and against Bucky.

The blood stops moving out of Volkov's body. For a long time it has moved slowly and more slowly. You don't know how long. How long since Volkov stopped moving? The blood moved for a long time after that. But now: no more. Now: it thickens. You know this about blood, the thickening of it. The way that time turns it to some other substance.

You left your knife in Volkov's belly. The blade secured in slick muscle. You don't need it now. You won't need it again. You sit down on the cement. You pull your knees up to your chest. You wait a long time. The air is cold. The light flickers. You wait. The light flickers. You wait. The light makes a buzz.

Footsteps.

Boot soles on glass and rubble. Fast and light but not silent enough.

Steve steps through the damaged door. Steve moves through the room. He stops when he sees the blood. He makes a sound. The light flickers. The light touches him. You see his face. It is all light and shadow.

You say, He's dead. I made sure he was dead.

Steve says, Oh my God. Bucky. Bucky. Oh my God.

Steve sets his shield down against the chair. Steve moves towards you, very fast. Steve is close to you. Close.

Steve says, Are you... are you okay.

You say, I'm undamaged.

Okay, Steve says. Okay. I didn't know you were... I didn't know if you'd be here. I hoped.

You say, I was here. Before that I was in Lima. Before that I was in Moscow. Before that I was in Washington DC. Before that I. Before that I was.

Steve says, Yeah. I remember.

You say, I needed to end him. Now I'm finished. I knew that you were coming here.

Steve says, Well you definitely...

Steve turns away from Volkov's body. He says, You could have gone. You waited.

You say, I knew that you were coming here.

Steve looks at you for a long time. He says, Well I'm here now. Sam's waiting outside. You wanna... you wanna blow this joint.

You say, I can't light the fuse till we're clear.

(Warehouses have predictable weak points. You laid the C4 quickly. Volkov was no threat but he was not yet bleeding. You did careful work. You checked the fuse.)

Steve says, Uh. Okay.

He waits while you stand up. He straps his shield on. You check the weapons you have remaining. Semi-automatic. Derringer, derringer. A space for the knife you'll never get back. You take off your holster, loaded with guns. You leave it on the floor. Volkov's blood gets on it. Steve stares at you. You say, Okay.

Okay, you say. You move. You start to move through the room. But then you stop because the chair is to your left. You walked past it to enter the room. But. Now you can't walk past the chair. You can't walk past                             You        can't

                                                         You                     can't                          walk                  past                the                   chair.

You clench your hands into fists. Your feet will not lift. Your fingers are cold. Your upper chest hurts. You can't get enough air. You breathe in and breathe in

and in and in and breathe in but you                            breathe                                              in

Steve says, What's wrong are you hurt. Bucky are you hurt.

Steve touches your body. Steve checks you for wounds. Steve touches you on the face with his hands.

I'm undamaged, you say. But. I can't. I can't I can't I can't.

Steve moves you so your face is pressed against his shoulder. His suit smells like car exhaust and sweat. He touches your hair and you don't move. You don't move. He touches your hair over and over again. He says, It's okay. He says, Shh. He says, Come on buddy let's get you out of here.

He keeps your head turned against his chest. He keeps his hand against your head. He moves with you. He leads you through the room. There is blood on his boot-soles. There is blood on your boot-soles. The light flickers. You breathe cold air. In and in and in. He steers you out of the door. For a while it is dark and then it is not dark. The sun blinds you. You can't see where Steve is. But his army is heavy around your shoulder. So you know. You know. You know where he is.

* * *

 

You sleep for 12.5 hours in a hotel room in Texas. It is dusk when you go to sleep. You smell nitrate on your hands. You are not used to sleeping in beds but you sleep in a bed because Steve says, Why don't you take that bed. Steve says, Why don't you take that bed and Sam and I will trade off. Just to keep watch.

Feel like I'm back in the damn service, Sam says.

You curl up on the bed with your back against the wall.

Bucky do you want to take your boots off, Steve says.

The laces of your boots are knotted together. You pull at one damp mud-caked lace-end. The knot doesn't loosen. You pull harder. The knot doesn't loosen. Your fingertips scrabble over the laces. You make a sound of frustration. The knot doesn't loosen. The knot doesn't loosen.

Steve says, Here let me.

Steve kneels down on the carpet. Steve takes one boot in his hand. For a long time he works on the knot with his fingers. You stay very still. You look down at him. When the knot gives he eases the boot off your foot. Then the other boot, his head bent. He eases your socks off. There's blood on your toes. He touches the bare skin of your feet with his hands. The soft arch where the skin never gets rough.

He says, There you go Buck. You want me to get your jacket.

No. No. You move away from him. You curl up on the bed with your back against the wall.

Okay, Steve says. He holds his hands up: surrender. Okay you just get some sleep, he says.

You close your eyes.

You get some sleep.

You open your eyes.

Steve is asleep on the other bed. His breathing is slow. His mouth is slightly open, slack. His right hand twitches against the pillow.

Hey don't wake him up, Sam says.

Sam is sitting with his feet propped up against a desk. He is drinking from a styrofoam cup. He is reading a paperback novel. His voice is hushed when he says Got some coffee for you here if you uh. If that's your thing.

You sit up. You rub your eyes. You cross the room. Sam gives you a cup. You drink from it.

He about wore himself out, Sam says. Tracking you down. Figure we let him sleep a while longer.

Behind the motel curtains, there is sun. It is day. Yesterday you were in Mexico. Today you are in Texas. You press your bare feet against the motel carpet. It is scratchy and gray-green. The air conditioner rattles. The air smells cold and moist. The book that Sam is reading is called _The Privateer's Spanish Maiden_. Its spine is bright red and broken straight down the middle. Sam picks it up. He says, Man you ever read these.

No.

Me neither till we went on this long-ass road trip. Now I'm hooked. They got me. Been picking 'em up in every airport, every gas station. Guess I'm just a sucker for happy endings.

The cup is empty. You place it carefully on the desk.

I mean I know I'm a sucker for happy endings, Sam says. Cause why else would I be in this sorry motel room. Know what I mean.

No.

Sam shakes his head. Yeah, that's what worries me.

You stare at the carpet.

Sam says, Never mind. You going to shower before we hit the road.

You hug your arms across your chest. Your fists clench where Sam can't see them. Fists that you force to not hit anything. But: fists. You are breathing hard. You taste blood in your mouth. You don't talk. You bite down hard on your lip.

Sam says, Whoa it's cool. Nobody's gonna make you shower. No nonconsensual showers. We might you know gently suggest it.

You are cold. You are cold. You dig your toes into the carpet. You are cold. Your hands clench and re-clench. You say, I'm going to wake Steve up. Your voice is not your voice. Your voice comes out too thin and fast.

Sam sighs. Sure.

Steve is still breathing slowly: in and out. You sit very carefully on the edge of his bed. The air here is warmed by the warmth of Steve's body. It is soft with the softness of him. You watch his chest fall. Then rise. Then fall. He always breathes; his breath always rises again. You put your warm hand against his warm hand. Your skin against his soft skin. You say, Steve. Your voice is not yours, not yours.

Steve moves. Steve blinks. Steve says, Bucky.

Your hand jerks. You turn away so he can't see your face.

Me, you say.

* * *

 

Sam has been driving for four hours when you say, Where are you going.

We're going home to New York, Steve says.

Oh, you say.

Silence. For a long time, silence.

Steve says, I've got a friend there. Tony. He said he can give us a safe place to stay. We kind of need— I mean there's still some guys out there. Not too many. We're hoping.

Oh, you say.

He's uh he's really good with machines and I thought— uh. We Tony and I we fought some aliens together a little while back.

Fought some aliens together, Sam repeats. He's laughing. You make it sound like y'all went on a camping trip. Dear Mom and Dad having a nice time fought some aliens.

It wasn't that big of a deal, Steve says.

Sam says, Not a big deal. You hearing yourself. Barnes can you believe this shit.

You lean your head against the window. The glass is warm. Outside, a storm is gathering in. The flat land around the car is golden. But far-off clouds encroach on it. They look heavy. They hang in the air above the wheat. Every cloud, a solid object. But up close, you see their secret reformations. They are an unfixed landscape, an unsettled earth. They billow, turn solid, disperse again. Lightning licks out of them, touching the freeway. Lightning, out of nothingness.

We should maybe pull over, Sam says after a while. Wait this one out.

So the three of you sit in the food court of a rest stop. Through the glass walls you watch the storm sweep west. It looks like a bruise and it moves as fast and as painful as a bruise, blue on the canvas of your skin. You check the skin of your arms for bruises. But you are blank, always blank. Nothing lingers. You watch the rain. It slaps the pavement. And then hailstones. Hailstones for a long time. Round and glassy. Smaller than your fist. You pick one up when you walk out of the rest stop. It is cold and it melts in the palm of your hand. It hurts to touch but you keep touching it, until it is gone, until there is nothing left of it.

Steve finishes his milkshake in the car. He says, I remember—

Oh here we go with I remember when, Sam says.

Steve says, How do you know what I was going to say.

Because, Sam says. I know you man.

No respect for your elders, Steve says.

Don't get me started.

You are half-asleep when you hear Steve laugh. It is a noise a person makes without knowing a language. Laughter, out of the body. You once laughed. It was a way of moving you have forgotten, though ways of moving are all you have left. You move now. You make a noise that is not laughter. The sound is a wound. But it leaves your body intact.

Bucky, Steve says. You okay back there.

I'm undamaged, you say. You check your ribs, your skull, your pulse. Your circuits and servos. The fingers of your right hand. All the motions are standard. Without delay.

I'm undamaged, you say again.

* * *

 

At night Steve says, Bucky you want me to get that jacket off. It's gotta be hot.

The motel room is narrow. You sit on one bed. You are already barefoot. You took off your boots. You rub your toes against the carpet. A different carpet. A different sensation. The same skin. The same nakedness.

Steve says, Bucky.

Steve is standing close to you. You tilt your head and look at him. He holds your gaze and lifts his hand to your shoulder. Slowly. You hold yourself still. You hold your breath. You hold yourself in place. He says, If it's okay. Tell me if it's not okay.

Okay.

He unfastens each of the leather buckles. His hands move slowly. He finds the zipper beneath. It's your tactical jacket. You kept it. You couldn't stop. You couldn't stop wearing it. But you left your knife in Volkov's body. You live with the space where it used to be. You used to have a holster and now you do not. And other things have gone missing. You don't move as Steve unhooks the zipper. He brings his hands up to rest on the shelf of your collarbone, just for an instant. His hands are large and full of heat. He slides the jacket off of your shoulders. He helps you slip your arms from the sleeves. You hunch your shoulders in your thin t-shirt. Steve folds your jacket and sets it on a chair. Your hand is shaking uncontrollably. Steve says, What's wrong Bucky what's wrong.

Nothing's wrong.

Something's obviously wrong, Steve says.

Your left hand doesn't shake. It does not know how to. It doesn't receive those thoughts from your brain. The rest of your body is badly designed, and hard to recalibrate. The rest of your body shakes though you didn't tell it to.

Steve touches your shoulder. Touches your arms. Touches the curve, the line of your face. The seam where your body meets your body, the scarred-white skin and the metal plate. He presses his body against your body. His heartbeat is thunderous. It's okay, he tells you over and over. It's okay. You breathe against his neck. His hands: against your spine. All these unarmored places. It's okay. It's okay.

Once Steve removed your shoulder from its socket. This is within range of your memory. The weight of his hard grip forcing you down, his hand against your face, till bone tore from bone, muscle from muscle. Your body had no choice. It moved that way. You submitted, but you made a sound. The sound was not separate. The sound was the pain. There was nothing else you were capable of. The bone snapped, the flesh tore, a scream escaped. You don't know now what bone has broken in you. What joint Steve has managed to dislocate. But you ball your fists against the meat of his back. And you make the sound anyway.

* * *

 

You sleep and you wake and it is morning.

I. I dreamed. I think I dreamed, you say.

Sam is driving the car through green wet mountains. The radio is on but the signal is weak. _The rocks may melt_ , a man's voice sings in the static, _and the seas may burn if I no more return_. The windshield wipers skate back and forth, back and forth. In the passenger seat, Steve turns. Oh yeah, he says. What did you dream about.

I don't know, you say. I saw things. When I was asleep. A train. Snow in the mountains. A river. It felt. I felt. Something.

You close your eyes. You can't look at Steve right now. You listen to the windshield wipers. Skate. Skate. The hiss of cars rushing through the light rainfall. You say, I saw a river. It was frozen over. But there was something green still moving in it. Under the ice. All the way down. Like. A part of the river would never freeze. And I felt.

Your face had been pressed to the ice. But you had not been cold. You had just. You had just breathed. You'd lain still and you'd watched for that greenness.

You can hear the uneven sound of Steve's breathing. He says, Did it hurt.

No, you say. It was. Peaceful.

You say the word and don't know what it means. You can't point to a thing in the world and say "peaceful." But the word comes and you say it and when you say it it is the right word, the right word to say. You open your eyes and you look at Steve's face. It is warm and soft, and it looks wounded. Like. When your shot went true in his abdomen. When you saw the blood. You can remember. Then, that was this face.

He says, I'm so sorry Buck. I'm.

Sam clears his throat. He says loudly, I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for some lunch. You ready for some lunch Steve.

* * *

 

At the truck stop Steve leaves for a while. Sam says, He needs some time. Some Steve time. Some time to be Steve. You gotta come help me pick out a book.

You follow him through the store. It is sounds and colors. You do not register it. You have no need.

Sam says, You want a new shirt. We could get you one with wolves on it.

You touch the stale cotton of the t-shirt's sleeve. The printed wolves have large black eyes. Animal eyes.

Sam says, I'm joking. I'm joking man. C'mere.

He shows you the shelf of books: paperbacks in lilac and blue and cream and pink. _The Corporal and His Amnesiac Bride_. _Seduced by a Sea Captain_. _The Sorcerer's Ageless Lust_. Sam says, Man I've read all these. Been on the road too long. The amnesiac bride gets her memory back spoiler alert and the sorcerer isn't such a bad guy. You just gotta get to know him a little bit first.

You are not looking at the books. You are looking at the door. A shadow is standing in the wrong place. A shadow is moving. Something is wrong. Your boot-knife is in your right hand. Your left hand is clenched in a fist. Something's wrong, you say. Something's wrong. Where's Steve.

What is it, Sam says. His hand goes to his holster. Where. Wait here.

Sam says, Wait here.

Sam says, Shit. Barnes.

You don't wait. You are moving towards the entrance. You take out the first armored man before he gets his shot off. An arm bearing him down and a knife across his throat. Blood bright and then darker. There is gunfire around you. You sweep your leg down and across. A second soldier falls. Your eyes and his meet. You have seen him before. You have seen him before. You rip his tac jacket off, sink the knife in him. It's too small a knife to do your work. The blade cuts through muscle slowly, slowly. It takes you too long to make it move. There's a hand in your hair, dragging you back. There are hands on your shoulders. Forcing you down. You shove your body against them. You snap at those hands. Teeth bared. Jaw working. A boot grinds your fingers. You can't move your head. You can't move your head. Your hair's jerked sideways. Cheek scrapes on concrete. You scream. Lips at your ear. A voice says, Летят журавли

and

                    you

                                            hold                                            

                                                                   on            

                                                                                             the                

                                                                                             air                        goes                     on

                                                                           for                                  ev                      er

                  there                        was                     green         ness                                          there                                                   under

                                  the                                                                  ice                there                was

                                                 green                             ness                                                there                           alive    and

                                                         you                                            breathe         in              you                              breathe         you            breathe         in

                                                      the                                    wolves              the                      wolves

                            had                                          animal                           eyes                                                     but

                                                                  they                                                     looked                                            just                               like

                                                                                   men

                                                                                   and

                                    you                   breathe                                  in                                              you

                                                            breathe                                   in

                                                                                                                                                           you  
  
                                                                                                                                                           you  
  
                                                                                                                                                           you

_поют соловьи_

  
                                                                                                                                                           you

                                                                                                                                           breathe in

                                                                                                                               and Steve

                                                                                                              touches your

                                                                                                    face and

                                                                                   your face is

                                                                  wet and you

                                 shudder you shudder you shudder you

             Steve says, It's okay you're okay now

a man is kneeling on the pavement Sam holds him holds a gun to his head and

you have seen him before you have heard his voice you know his voice you know you know it you heard it and you

throw yourself at him there's blood in your mouth and the noise you make is                      e    n    d    l    e    s    s                   you

feel the sharp bones shift in the pillar of his neck as it strikes the curb again and again  
and Steve pulls you back saying No please Bucky

and you crawl away from him       and vomit on the concrete              your          whole          body          misfiring             cold and cold and            water on your face and   every   hair   prickling   on   your   skin                                 and  bone grating in your broken fingers and                                       Sam says      We gotta get out of here                                                                                                                   and   you  
                                                                                          find  
                                                                                          a  
                                                                                          gun  
                                                                                  and  you empty it into the still body that jerks with each bullet         like life is still there  
                                                                                  and  you kill it             and kill it        and kill it  
       and Steve says Bucky we have to get out of here and

                                                                                  and

                                                                                  and

* * *

You breathe in.

Water is running somewhere nearby. A river. A river. No. Not a river. The air is warm here. There is no ice. Steve is holding your jaw in a soft firm hand. He is scraping a washcloth under your eyes. You are seated on the rim of a bathtub. You are barefoot. You are cold. No. Not cold. But. Moving. Shivering. You hug your arms against your sides.

Steve, you say.

Steve says, Hi. Oh. Hi.

His voice is so quiet. He sets the washcloth down. He takes your face in both hands. He leans forward for a second. He touches his forehead to your forehead. He is struggling to breathe. Or else he is crying. Welcome back, he says. You kind of uh went somewhere else for a while.

Sorry.

No don't be sorry, he says. I just wasn't really sure if uh. Sorry just. Uh. Give me a minute.

He stands up. He moves away from you. He turns so you can't see. So you can't see his expression. You hear the same hard fight for breath. He covers his face with his hands for a minute. More than a minute. He clears his throat and he turns back to you. But you're back now, he says.

You are. You are in a motel room in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. A motel room off of I-78. You know this. Sam is in the other room making a phone call. If you listen you can hear him. _Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I mean at this point but. No we lost them but. How contained is your containment you know what I'm saying._ You are here. You are back. I was here, you say. I was just. I.

It's okay, Steve says.

He sits down beside you. He picks up the washcloth. He says, There's a lot of blood. I was just trying to.

You look down. Your t-shirt is soaked in blood. There is blood in your fingernails. Blood on your hands. You flex your breakable flesh-and-bone fingers. They hurt but they will keep on healing. I don't think that much of it's mine, you say.

No. I know. Just thought it'd be nicer to have it off you I guess, he says. If that's what you want. If that's okay.

Clean water is still running from the faucet. You turn your head to see. It runs down to the porcelain tub. It collects there and it has no color. On and on, translucent and shapeless, a neverending stream. A waterfall of nothing returning to nothing. You reach out your hand but it's unholdable, that water. It slips through your fingers. Like. Like. Like: on the road you saw lightning. Steve laughed in the car: a streak of sound. It traveled out of his body. Laughter, and now it is gone forever. Water beads on your eyelashes. You blink it away. You touch your wet cheek. Steve, you say. You say, Steve. Steve. What did they do to me.

Steve chokes out a noise. _Please don't make me do this_. That's what it's like. That's the noise that he makes.

The water runs red over your hand. Not red. But it carries the rust-colored blood away. After a while Steve takes your wrist. He brings it to himself. Gently. Very gently. With the washcloth, he rubs the blood from your nail-beds. The dried blood from the cracks of your palm. He wrings the washcloth out, rewets it. He touches the flesh of your arm cautiously. The soft white skin with the veins near the surface. You know, you know how much it can bleed. But you let him unfold the joint of your elbow. His fingertips scrape the beat of your pulse. The point of the artery. Your heartbeat skitters. You hold very still. But he only pauses to tug at your sleeve. Can you, he says.

No. You say, You do it.

His hands barely touching your body. His hands coaxing the damp t-shirt up. Peeling it off your body. His hands touching the stormcloud of bruises. You can feel them under your skin. Under your skin a secret reforming. Steve moves the wet cloth over your skin. He says, If it hurts. If it hurts.

But it doesn't.

His hands touch your body and your body. The water runs. The water runs red.

Tip your head back, he says. Can you. Like that.

The weight of the warm water touching you. You shut your eyes. Steve's hand on your forehead. Steve's hand softly cupping the back of your neck. You breathe in short and hard small jerks. Steve smooths the water over your head. The water moves. You move below the water. You are quiet where Steve is touching you. The sound has gone out of your body. The water washes over you. Steve lifts you up out of the water. You blink. You blink the water away. He dries the ends of your hair. Your shoulders. Everywhere he touches is clean in his wake.

Better, he says.

You say, Better.

His hand cradles the edge of your jawline. He combs your damp hair out of your face. You lean forward. You rest your head against his shoulder. Your body against his body. You know how it feels to feel his heart beat. It hurts to touch but you keep touching. You hold on to him. You feel his breath rising. Your own breath rising. Rising and rising over again.

A breath that moves and moves in the body                        and you breathe in and you breathe in

  


* * *

  
In the morning you'll wake up and it will be morning. There will be no blood left on your skin. There will be no bruises on your ribcage. But you will remember the damage. You will feel where the bone has made new bone. The flesh made new flesh. Where the blood has been. In the corner, Sam will turn the page of a book that he is reading again. Steve will turn in his sleep and you'll watch him dream. His eyes moving under his eyelids. Seeing things that you can't see. You'll leave the bed and you'll go to him, and you'll put your hand against his hand and you'll say, Steve, and he'll blink and he'll close his fingers in your fingers. He'll blink and he'll say, Bucky. Like. Like. Like: you were one of the things he saw. The things that you can't see. And you'll let him hold your hand in his hand for as long as he can hold anything. Your breakable flesh in the palm of his hand. And you'll say. You'll say. You'll say. Me.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Stephen Dobyns' "Somewhere It Still Moves," which is mysteriously not online in its entirety, but which you can read an excerpt from on my Tumblr [here](http://septembriseur.tumblr.com/post/85551394389/the-waiter-laughed-with-us-he-is-probably-dead).
> 
> The song on the radio in the mountains is "Ten Thousand Miles," probably the Nic Jones recording.
> 
> The trigger phrases mean "[cranes are flying](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cranes_are_flying)" and "nightingales are singing."
> 
> I probably would not have thought of the romance novels if it were not for [this whole thing](http://morgan-leigh.tumblr.com/post/83200342644/post-recovery-social-cues-an-adventure-in-not-breaking) which you should read.


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